


Origins

by mantabanter



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Blood, Gen, Miraculous Dragon Age AU, elf racism, tagging as I go along, yeah you read that its elf racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:40:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28710612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mantabanter/pseuds/mantabanter
Summary: GENERAL PREMISE: Miraculous characters but in a dragon age: origins setting (its niche, roll with it)Marinette is an elf living in the Alienage of the City of Denerim, trying to mind her business. She's her fathers daughter really, a bakers daughter, and she's devoted her entire life to the family business. She hates that it only takes one decision for her to be remembered as the soldiers daughter by the neighbors instead. But what else is a girl to do in this situation?Sometimes you just have to kill twenty seven professional noble guards and get recruited to stop the end of the world. All in a days work.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. City Elf

Duncan knew calamity was on the rise. He hadn’t much time before the war was to begin, and he felt the sickness grow with every step he took. He was on a mission, and he knew where he had to be. Several of his associates had been sent to crucial points of recruitment, and he had known the second he had been informed that Denerim was his place of choice. 

Denerim was not known for its warriors particularly. Not like the swift Dalish hunters, or the might of the dwarves of Orzammar. There were men, strong men, but you could find strong men anywhere if you looked hard enough. Fereldan was a Strong Man’s country. No, he needed a different approach. 

The war to follow was not a political war. It was not of gains and losses. It was about urgency, it was about everything. Least of all but men, it was about life, and men so often believed they surpassed such things. He would know, he was one. A warrior who deeply knew what he was fighting for was more valuable in this time than 100 men who did not know why they were there. 

Elves had been regarded as second class citizens for the larger part of history, and they were the second highest population of the city of Denerim. They had a bloody history, fighting for independence, for sanctuary, for peace and freedom. While most armies ignored them and their smaller forms, working them to polish the swords rather than brandish them, Duncan knew better. 

He knew vaguely of what he was looking for, the leads he had and the theories he kept ushered his foot to the gates of the capital. What he encountered was not what he had imagined. 

When he entered the fort city of Denerim, he did not expect the sight he saw. He did not trust fate so much, and he didn’t consider himself a religious man. But he wasn’t ungrateful. It was a second, a moment, and he had been there to catch it. Whatever moved beyond this world, of what he knew very little about, it mattered then. Because he was here, and so was she. 

An elven woman wearing rags, standing two steps from the threshold of a palace and covered in the same blood that coated her dagger, relishing in the sight of the sun. 

\--

As far as humans went, Duncan was… okay. She didn’t like where she was, and overall her head was swimming with “What the fuck. What the actual fuck is going on. What the f-”

Marinette was sitting in a prison cell, her sentence being sorted among a bunch of human men. She didn’t like that, but that was the way things were. The only one who listened to her side of the story was Duncan. He didn’t look like the others, his armour was different, and the way he held himself was unnaturally still and sturdy. He had talked to her beforehand, but he didn’t ask the type of questions she’d expected him to. 

He asked her about the dagger she’d used to kill the men. He asked where she came from, (the alienage, duh. Where else do elves come from in this godforsaken city). He asked about her day, what had happened before the fight, and… why. She was cold, she spat at his feet, and she remained hunched in her corner. It was a defense mechanism, because what WAS she going to do anyway? She had killed about 27 professional soldiers escaping illegal confinement in a nobles keep. She was to be put to death, and the last thing she was going to do was cooperate. 

It was the waiting that was the worst. She thought of her father back home, how sick of worry he must be feeling. She thought about Shiani, she’d probably congratulate her on her performance, but she never wanted it to end like this. She’d prefer both of their lives be spared. At least Shiani was safe. Most of all she thought about her mother. This whole experience was saturated in her memory, the blade she had held in her hands that had morphed into an extension of her arm. She had become a weapon, just like mama had showed her when she was young. Even after sizing up Duncan, analyzing how he moved, in the back of her mind it was her mothers voice telling this all to her. She could almost feel her sitting next to her, rubbing circles on her back like she did when she was a little girl.

The child of a baker and a soldier. She had dedicated her entire life to baking, but it took only one misstep to be described as the soldier's daughter instead. 

Blood didn’t smell nice, and she wanted to change. Luckily, Duncan decided to show up to her danky prison cell a second time. Oh,  _ joy _ . 

“Your sentence is being decided.” he said, straightly. 

Odd news to report, but ok. She scanned him a second time, but he moved the same. “Then why are you here?”

“A choice.” 

He shooed the guard that watched her, kneeling on the other side of the bars. Marinette stayed where she was in her corner, huddled for a little warmth. They were alone.

“A choice of what? To be hung or beheaded? Why, thank you for asking!” She feigned a smile. “You know what, why don’t you just surprise me.” She turned to face her corner defiantly, but the man didn’t leave. Her elven ears twitched to his silence, waiting for his next words. She held her breath, and she hoped he couldn’t tell. 

“Have you heard the stories about an order known as the Grey Wardens?”

Marinette froze. It was an unconventional answer to her quippy comeback, but what shocked her most is that she  **did** know the stories. Her mother had told her about them when she was little. They had been her favourite bedtime story for about two years of her life. The gears in her head turned, and when she faced him, he could tell the answer was a resounding yes. 

“How do you know-” she stopped herself. “You are a gray warden aren’t you? What are you  **doing** here?” Marinette forgot herself a second, her mothers voice recounting the tales she had begged to hear as a little girl. 

He took a while, almost as if to let her process it all. “Darkspawn.” was his final answer. “A horde has been seen deep in the Korcari Wilds, and we are down in numbers.” He admits. 

She stayed silent, urging him to go on.

“I have come here looking for recruits. Denerim is a city of soldiers, in more ways than one. If I’m correct… your mother was one of them.”

Marinette knows he’s referring to the sanctuary soldiers, and not the ones that stand outside her cell. Thats what her mother was. A veteran of the Sanctuary. Her father told her little, just that she fought, they lost, and she moved to Denerim. 

“How do you know about my mother?” Marinette asked. 

“You share the same last name, correct? Or at least, one of them. Cheng, if I’m correct?”    
  
She nodded. 

“I tried to recruit her long ago, but when I arrived here, she had a family she wasn’t willing to give up.” 

“And now you’re here for me.”

He took a long pause, studying her face. Marinette felt… awkward, scared of what he could possibly see lurking in her features. 

  
“I need someone like you. A soldier like you. Its clear you are experienced, to take down twenty two-”

“Twenty seven.” Marinette corrected. 

  
He nodded, acknowledging her, before carrying on. “Twenty Seven guards. I need someone like you.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, especially with how dull Duncan came off. 

“So this choice… I’m guessing. Stay here, or go with you.”

He nodded. “You aren’t stupid, Ms Cheng-”

“-Dupain-Cheng.”

“My apologies. But yes. The right of conscription overrides any legal fate they might find for you, if it is an opportunity you are interested in.” 

Marinette thought for a moment. 

“I’d need to think about it.”

“Understood. But don’t take long. I have the feeling these nobles aren’t fond of you.” 

She nodded understandingly, before turning to face the stones of her prison cell to process. He was gone before she could tell he had gotten up, and she only knew because the prison guard had trudged back in so loudly. 

A grey warden or death. There wasn’t much of a choice to be honest, but Marinette needed some time to herself. She felt seven years old all over again, warming to her mothers touch. She missed her father. She wondered if Duncan would let her say goodbye. Would she be able to retrieve the dagger they confiscated from her? It was her mothers after all.

Duncan was… tolerable. She didn’t trust him really, but she trusted the other humans around her even less. 

She had made up her mind, and she spent the rest of the day recalling the tales she heard as a child. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette travels with Duncan and they both learn something.

Saying goodbye to her father was the worst. It went too quick, Duncan didn’t want to wait long. She didn’t blame him, but she wanted to. The humans around the village were antsy when they saw her. If Duncan wasn’t there, she knew they’d jump her. He stuck by her closely, as if daring them to make a move. Marinette could take them any day, or she could try. But she didn’t want to, not today. Today of all days. It was supposed to go differently.

Her father looked at her with sad eyes, not unlike the look he had when her mother was taken. He hugged her tightly, his fingers grazing the sleeve hems of her dress. He had admired them that morning, commenting how proper she looked, how today was going to be a great day of feasting and celebration. And now it was ruined, and she was being shipped off somewhere far away, where she had never been.

She didn’t know how to tell him any of it. He was the only person she got to say goodbye to, the only person she wanted to say goodbye to, and she couldn’t even get the words out. 

Duncan escorted her to the keeper of the alienage, an elderly man with delicate and faded tattoos on his face, the man who overtook the care of the Denerim elves. He was frailer in his older age, but he still stood tall and nodded when in Duncan’s presence. It was not their first time meeting. She remembered when he had told her and the other kids stories when she was younger, sitting around a campfire with cups of milk and biscuits. He told tales of the Dalish Clans, of Elven history, of the Elven legacy that rested in the path and in each of all of us. For most of her childhood she hadn’t believed those stories, but she loved them all the same. 

He offered her armour, fine in make. Light and leather, and after some adjustments, it fit alright. Better than the dress. He offered her a dagger, belonging to his own person. He told her to take it, even if she didn't want to. 

They moved fast, their voices hushed, swallowed by the night.

\----

Travelling with Duncan was tiring.

Marinette did her best to wash the dress when she could. She scrubbed and she scrubbed with a horse brush on every river bed she passed by, but the blood didn’t wash out easily. It had sat and stained for too long. If anything, it just started smelling like horse.

“Are you alright?” She was starting to get used to his sudden appearances. You couldn’t hear him walk behind you, but his armour made a specific low grinding noise that made her ears twitch whenever it came near her. 

“I’m fine!” She snapped, ruffling the dress into a wet ball, and throwing it on a rock. She turned around, her back to him, eyes set on river stones as she tried not to cry.

“You didn’t mention it was your wedding that day.” He said. 

She looked down at her boots, scuffed and dusty. “It didn’t seem important.”

He nodded solemnly, his silence inviting.

“I… I didn’t really care about the wedding. This is just my mothers dress, and I’d hate to ruin it.”

“Why didn’t you care about the wedding?”

“It… It was an arranged marriage. That's just how things are in the alienage. It’s not a big deal.”   
  
“Were you not looking forward to it?”

“Not particularly. I was- I was hoping that it could be celebrated later when I was a bit older. At least later in the year. In summer. But the Keeper was insistent.” She scrunched her hands together in response to the memory. “Very insistent, without warning or reason. It was infuriating.”   
  
“Curious.” 

She turned to face him finally, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he seemed especially hurried to marry you off, and I had sent word just the other day that I was coming.”

  
“I don't get it.”

He ushered her to sit on the fallen log next to him, an opportunity she took.   
  
“What do you think stopped your mother being recruited all those years ago?”

“Her family. My dad and I. She didn’t want to leave us- wait. Do you think that's why he tried to...” She trailed off, words failing her.   
  
“It's a possibility.” 

There was a pause as she thought it through. “Why me though?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there are others in the alienage who can fight. My fiance, for example. Best shot in the city I’d wager.”

Duncan looked at her for a long time, before it finally clicked. “OH. They were… That’s why… Why  **wouldn’t** he want fighters to be recruited though? What’s the issue really?”

“Well, if no one in the alienage can fight, if racial tensions get too high as they did on your wedding day, who would protect them?” He posed the question, which made Marinette think. 

“That… that makes sense. Huh. If you know all this, then why did  _ you  _ come to the alienage? If we need every soldier we can get...”

He sighed, looking over the landscape. It was all scraggly looking trees and weeds, but the sky was pretty today. Marinette was still trying to get used to it. She had lived in the city all her life, and had never seen so much green before. 

“These are desperate times. Some matters take precedence over others, and it's important to know the distinction, as heartless as it may seem.” He looked at her, studying her. He did that often. Every time he did, she noted how dark his eyes were. He had scared her at first, but she was getting used to him. She didn't hate him. That was something to say, for a human man. 

“What is the distinction?” She queried. 

“Perspective.” He paused. “If your alienage doesn’t have enough to defend itself when something goes wrong, what does that mean for the alienage?” He looked off once again, making Marinette shudder at the thought. “But if the darkspawn blight is not handled, there won’t be any alienage left to protect when it matters.” 

She decided to join Duncan in scanning the landscape, trying to see what he saw. What would this place look like if the Blight overtook the country? Would there still be scraggly trees? Any grass or weeds? Would the sky still be pretty? Or did the colour of the sky not matter if there was no one left to see it. 

  
The landscape grew more beautiful when she bargained with its life in her mind. It shaped itself into something worth protecting right before her very eyes. 

“Does one soldier really make the difference?” The question came out like a whisper, but she wagered Duncan heard it. 

“Yes. One soldier who knows what she is fighting for, and devotes herself entirely to its victory-” He looked back at her small form, perched on the edge of a stone. “-Is worth more than 27 guards who don’t know what to fight for.” 

She blinked, absorbing the weight of his words. 

She acted like she didn’t feel guilty, but she did. They were horrible, they tried to kill her. But doesn’t every creature act out when they are threatened with death? Isn’t everyone just trying to survive? Did they deserve that kindness, that pity, that justification? Or should she be harsh and cold towards their death, the lives she had sliced away. Could she even do that? She hated them with a furious passion, but regret still hung to her legs like wet cloth. 

“When we get to Ostagar, I’d recommend washing the dress with vinegar and hot water. It’s good for bad blood stains.” 

She looked back at the dress, pondering for a moment, before picking it up again. She passed it from hand to hand, rubbing her thumb over the fine - now wet - threadwork. 

“Duncan, thank y-” She looked back at the log where he had sat, but he was no longer there. Further away he scouted the area, picking at a peculiar plant that grew on the side of the road. 

‘ _ Never mind. _ ’ Marinette thought.

They walked the rest of the day in silence, one more comfortable than the previous day.

The grey warden was nice, although quite straight to the point with an unfeeling face. Were all grey wardens like this? She reflected on the keeper of the alienage and his decisions in a new light. She hadn’t known her skills were so valued, no one had ever let her guess it. They’d let her think that being a baker was all she was good for. The fact that he was pairing off warriors as soon as he could before Duncan came was something she hadn’t noticed, and as angry as she felt at him bargaining with her future like that, she had to come to a begrudging understanding.

The end of the alienage was his blight. The protection of the people was the most important thing to him. He had to make those choices, even if they weren't for everyone's benefit. She hadn’t wanted to marry so young, she was barely twenty. She hadn’t had a lot of time to imagine a life with her betrothed before she was saying her vows and staring at his features - fresh and never seen before.

Maybe this was worth it. Maybe this was all worth it. If she had never killed those men, she wouldn’t have caught Duncan’s eye. And if this blight was as threatening as he said it was, as she remembered her mother telling her, then by fighting against it she was doing something good. Good for the alienage, good for her family, good for all the people who wanted to see the sky another day. 

**Author's Note:**

> MK SO IM MAKING THIS? Dragon Age: Origins is the best rpg i've ever played, and since i have Two (2) interests and One (1) very adhd brain, i decided they need to meet each other. I'm not promising quality, but I'm promising a good time. I'm known for my rare pairs but this will probably be very basic in terms for me. I'm talking CANON couples yall. I've like never done that before. (I might do a spin off oneshot for rare pair couples i really like in this setting, and if i do, ill scream abt it so you know)
> 
> If you're around to read this, thanks! I'm going to tag as I go since yKNOW Origins is like kinda grimdark fantasy and gore is what it is (i tagged it already because AHA I know whats coming i aint no fOOL), and who knows what other shit will pop into my head at 3am, so letS GOOOO.


End file.
